


Trouble

by Opium_du_Peuple



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Criminals respect pronouns and don't assume genders, First Kiss, First Meetings, Non-Binary Jean Prouvaire, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-27
Updated: 2016-04-27
Packaged: 2018-06-04 21:22:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6675913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Opium_du_Peuple/pseuds/Opium_du_Peuple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[ Powerless, Montparnasse watched the dancer making their way towards him, the beating of his heart matching the impossibly loud music. He didn't hear them under the cacophony, but he had read enough lips to translate their words easily :</p><p>"Kiss me." ]</p><p>Caught off-guard in the middle of a burglary, Patron-Minette scatters to the wind to the sound of police sirens. The cops on his trail, Montparnasse tries lose them in a nightclub, but the fuzz are more resilient than usual. Of all the ways out, Parnasse sure didn't expect that dazzling dancer to give him a hand. Or, rather, their lips.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trouble

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there!  
> This fic is inspired by the song ["Touble" by Neon Jungle](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FIVj691kOzA), feel free to picture that song as a soundtrack for the club! Also, I totally blame [incandescent-darkness](http://incandescent-darkness.tumblr.com/) for this piece! I hope you're happy! 
> 
> Also more Jehanparnasse can't hurt. I mean, if you clicked here, you either ship it or are intrigued, so I hope I can bring that wonderful pairing to life! That being said, have a good read and I hope you'll enjoy it!!

_One more block. Come on. One more._

Montparnasse didn't know what was messier, his thinking or his breathing. He should have listened to Claquesous for once and eaten that damn granola bar when he had the chance. That'll teach him to burgle on an empty stomach! He vaguely wondered if it was sugar or adrenaline that was powering his legs at the moment. Whatever it was, the sudden surge of energy was running low.

The sirens of the cops were still ringing behind him, blue and red lights colouring the buildings like it was Bastille day. Montparnasse wasn't sure they had actually seen him or if they were just driving randomly on the off-chance that they'd catch a member of Patron-Minette. Wherever the others had run to, he hoped they had less company.

Montparnasse took an abrupt turn and found refuge in the first alleyway to his right, putting the chase on hold to catch his breath. His hand on the wall, he drew loud inspirations, feeling the hint of bile stinging his throat. If his legs had stopped running, his heart kept racing in his chest, like an warning urging him to keep going.The throbbing was reverberating throughout his whole body. He couldn't stay here. He had to move and quickly.

"Hey, you! Don't move!" a voice called from the main street as a torch flashed in his direction.

"Shit!"

So much for the breather. Montparnasse took his heels, scrapping his hand against the rough wall. Though still somewhat steady, his legs wouldn't keep the pace for long. The fugitive looked for a street sign, anything that might help. Rue de la Gaité. Montparnasse couldn't suppress his breathless smile. There were no safe houses around, but there was at least somewhere he could go.

Crossing the street on sore feet, he navigated through a forest of concrete before muffled beats added themselves to those of his heart. He was close. Montparnasse needn't turn around to know the police were on his trail. These guys had never quite grasped the concept of discretion. Without an ounce of hesitation, Montparnasse crossed the street in direction of nightclub. At the door, Brujon caught sight of him, nodded and opened the gates of the safe haven.

The music was deafening, even in the lobby. Wheezing, Montparnasse leant against a wall, his hands on his trembling knees. The sharp breaths he drew in left him with an acrid burn in his throat and his lungs. We should have planned this better, he thought. The cops should never have been there in the first place. Regaining his composure, Montparnasse wiped his brow with the sleeve of his jacket. He had barely gone back to a regular breathing pattern that the entrance door opened next to him :

"Parnasse, feu follet!" Brujon's voice warned.

"Oh for fuck's sake!"

The cops were heading his way. Running on wobbly limbs, Montparnasse pushed the door leading to the main room. Instantly, the music crushed him like a wave, blowing what was left of his eardrums. His starving and exhausted brain couldn't keep up between the music and the blinding spotlights. Montparnasse dug his fingernails into his palm. Now was not the time to faint away from his problems. If anything, it would only make the cops' lives easier, and Montparnasse wasn't known for such kindness towards the police force. Disoriented, he elbowed a few people, threading his way through the crowd of dancers, hoping to merge himself with the swarm. Fragments of conversation were assaulting him from every corner, worsening his growing headache. The music wasn't helping either. Slowed down by his low blood sugar, the air felt thicker than water.

Something shiny caught his eye. A spark. No, a flake of gold. In a haze, Montparnasse followed the faint glint. A million golden driblets suddenly gathered in a thin thread, a delicate ornament woven along an intricate braid. Montparnasse's gaze trailed up until it met a face. His mind went blank. A few feet from him, a willowy figure was swaying like a reed under a gentle wind, moving lithely to the music, hips undulating in rhythm. Mesmerised, Montparnasse saw them laugh gently, their braid swinging from shoulder to shoulder, entrancing him some more.

The vision lasted for an ephemeral second, before he remembered what was at stake. He cast an alarmed look over his shoulder. For how long had he been staring? How much time had he lost in contemplation? He tried to steal one last glance at the graceful sight before burying himself deeper in the crowd. Eyes met eyes, grounding him where he stood, spellbound. From afar, the bewitcher smiled timidly in his direction. The untimely attention was both infuriating and magnetising. The smile, however, soon faded away. The dancer's features tensed into a serious expression Montparnasse had not meant to conjure. Powerless, he watched them making their way towards him, the beating of his heart matching the impossibly loud music. Montparnasse didn't hear them under the cacophony, but he had read enough lips to translate their words easily :

"Kiss me."

* * *

 

Clubs had long been a source of anxiety for Jehan. Those places was too cramped, too stifling, too dark, too much. They owed Courfeyrac and Musichetta for their radical change of heart on the matter. Clubs were awesome. The crowd was an asset, not a hindrance. Nobody paid attention to you in the kaleidoscopic darkness, you could unleash, unwind, lose yourself. As for the stifling component, Jehan had soon discovered that they had been wearing the wrong clothes for too long.

Saturday night was invariably club night. Courfeyrac was a the origin of the tradition, and the rest of them had followed. Though "the rest of them", that night, was restricted to Jehan, Courfeyrac himself, Musichetta, Cosette and Eponine. Cosette did try to convince Marius to come, but his aversion towards public dancing had won that round.

Courfeyrac was easily the biggest show off of the squad. Fairy godmothers must have lined up by his crib to endow him with all the right moves and hips that never lied. It was only fair to share his talent with the rest of the world. He was presently sharing it with Cosette and Musichetta, reenacting Dirty Dancing from A to Z under bursts of laughter encouraging him to keep going. Jehan watched the trio spinning and chuckling, a wide grin on their lips. They were more of a solitary dancer, like Eponine, flowing freely to the music. They liked that, being nothing but energy and rhythm. There was something mystical about being under ever changing lights, alone but never lonely. Jehan loved the paradoxical quietude of it all.

Jehan had just settled into a new song when they felt something travelling up their spine. Though never physical per say, an intent gaze always leaves a mark, a warm trail on its passage. Jehan could feel it tingling underneath their skin. They gave a look around, seeking out the observer, but their eyes didn't meet anyone else's. Around them, the dancers went on swinging, their heads bowed, staring a the void. Jehan only managed to isolate a fixed point in the swaying mass, someone who just stood there, looking over their shoulder towards the main entrance. Spotting the odd one out had been made all the easier given the clothes they were wearing. Leather jackets and black jeans were hardly the go-to getup for clubbing, not if they wanted to be comfortable.

Their curiosity piqued, Jehan gazed on a few more seconds. After all, the stranger wouldn't notice their scrutiny, they thought. Leather was too busy looking in the other direction to mind. No sooner had Jehan formulated that excuse that their eyes found themselves plunged in theirs. Caught off guard, they felt themself blush violently, outshining the spotlights, but didn't divert their gaze. Neither did Leather. Jehan automatically found a hundred new names to call them, though they would never have dared saying them out loud. "Handsome" felt particularly called for.

Jehan risked a small smile, emboldened by the atmosphere around them, but saw no response from the other side, merely contemplation. For a second, Jehan felt disappointed, the corners of their lips twitching back down, until they looked closer. It wasn't just contemplation, they realised. Leather looked startled, almost scared. Jehan furrowed their brow. They knew that expression. They stood on tiptoes, trying to catch a glimpse over the crowd.

A sudden tide of cops burst through the main entrance, their uniforms popping under the black light. Jehan saw them looking around and something clicked in their brain. That wasn't any mundane police raid looking for drugs. It wasn't _something_ they were looking for, but _someone_. Leather's ill-suited clothes, stillness and desperate expression added themselves effortlessly to the equation.

Sending caution to hell, Jehan started winding and curving their way towards the runaway, poking some dancers to clear their path. They had a duty of assistance, something pulling them towards the escapee. How many times had Jehan themself run from the cops? How many times had they wished for someone to hold out a helpful hand in their flight? Be the change you wish to see in the world, a wise man once said. If there was honour among thieves, there was solidarity among lawbreakers.

Leather didn't budge one bit when Jehan planted themself in front of them, each holding the other's gaze. Jehan had to tip their chin up slightly to keep the eye contact. Their shyness forgotten in the heat of the moment, they still felt a rush flowing through them. A surge of intoxicating fearlessness parted their lips :

"Kiss me."

* * *

 

Montparnasse blinked, confused. Surely, he had misunderstood the message. He opened his mouth, uncertain of what he meant to say. Was the front door a gateway towards a whole other dimension he didn't know about? A world where ethereal beings apparently existed and offered themselves in a blink of an eye? Or maybe had he already fainted in the middle of the dancefloor. Whichever, Montparnasse stood there, stunned by the proposal―no―the order.

His otherworldly company seemed to grow impatient as his indecisiveness dragged on. They cast an urgent look over his shoulder, inviting him to flow their gaze. Montparnasse furrowed his brow and looked over his shoulder once again.

A cold sweat rolled down his back. Across the room, the cops were glowing like monstrous blue fireflies, looking for their pray among the dancers. Montparnasse clenched his jaw. There was no running away from this, not on these legs and certainly not here. His pulse grew more chaotic. Everything in his body yelled at him to run to the nearest emergency exit, everything but reason, or what was left of it. Montparnasse felt a tug on his sleeve.

"Kiss me!"

The lovely dancer wasn't offering a kiss, he realised. They were offering him a way out! He swallowed the lump in his throat, his gaze falling on the offered lips. Stress was compressing his lungs, or it might have been the anticipation. Montparnasse exhaled shakily, tremors running along his fingers. The next thing he knew, he had abandonned himself to his saviour's lips.

The sensation was dizzying, so much so that Montparnasse cupped the jaw of his now partner in crime for balance. His fingers were tense on their skin, not adventurous enough to venture in their hair. Keep this clinical, he thought. It was a kiss of convenience, his get-out-of-jail-free card, nothing more. There weren't any cameras rolling.

If Montparnasse was keeping his hands more or less to himself, his acolyte didn't hesitate to deepen the embrace. The hands stroking his sides brought them closer, chest against chest. Montparnasse didn't have much breath to spare, yet he still sighed when he felt the shy hint of a tongue against his lip. In an instant, his fingers thawed and he felt something melt inside him. His stoic stance relaxed against the body he was holding, his arm snaking around their waist. With an eager brush of lips, his tongue gently sought out its sister, intrigued.

It was a sweeter feeling than the thrill of the chase, but the electricity running through him was the same. "Keeping it clinical" was laughable at that point. There was nothing detached in his touch anymore. Still, he couldn't quite immerse himself, knowing the cops were roaming around, predators hiding in the tall dancing grass, waiting to pounce on him at any second. Montparnasse discreetly looked up through his lashes. His partner kept a close watch on the cops, alert eyes open even though their mouth felt convincingly focused on his. From the corner of his eye, Montparnasse spotted a bright blue shirt. His hand stiffened immediately.

"Hey," his keeper called softly. "Hey, look at me."

Montparnasse heard them as though the music banging against the walls had never been there. Their eyes were so comforting he didn't have the heart to confess being chased around by the fuzz was akin to a morning jog for him. Though he had rarely come that close to being caught. Something was twisting his stomach. Fear perhaps. Perhaps not. Losing himself in their eyes, Montparnasse noticed how deep their irises were. He had thought them blue, for some reason, but they were the exact opposite, of an intense shade of brown, almost black under the weak lighting. He revelled in them, feeling the knot loosening in his abdomen. The lights made something twinkle at the corner of their eyes. Golden glitter. They had been kissing under the stars.

The both of them began rocking to a gentle flow, almost slow dancing. Montparnasse followed the expert's steps. He wasn't a bad dancer, though he was a mediocre one under pressure. The situation was so surreal he could hardly believe he was awake to act it out. Standing on a fine line between panic and serenity, the wanted man kept casting glances around, ready to see a cop pop from every corner. His eyes to the front, his partner had his back, quite literally.

Their hands hadn't left his sides, he realised. Not that he complained, far from it. He didn't know their name. He didn't know if they were a "they" do begin with, he had just learnt not to jump to conclusions with that sort of business. He didn't know why they helped. It was hardly a good time and place to ask, but Montparnasse promised himself to get the answers. Meanwhile, he could always enjoy the company of the golden clad silth in silence.

"There!"

They both straightened up, their smiles fading quickly into terrified rictuses. They should have kept on kissing. Almost immediately, a swarm of blue shirts began elbowing their way in their direction. An impulse within Montparnasse urged him to push his little helper aside, to save them the trouble of spending the night in a cold cell for a kiss. Another, however, urged him to run as fast as he could. A kindred spirit, his acolyte heard the same calling. Surging forwards, they took Montparnasse's hand and scampered off, navigating nimbly through the cluster of people.

Montparnasse saw the exit sign glowing in the dark, but felt no relief whatsoever. He had no energy left to burn, no stamina powering his legs anymore. If they got out, what then? As swift as they were, his companion could hardly drag him further!

His back abruptly met a wall. They had never been running to the exit. Golden Sprite had led them to the entrance of a black lighted corridor, right next to the emergency exit. They pinned Montparnasse there and promptly kicked the door open, giving the cops a wrong track to follow.

"They're outside!" someone yelled to cover the music.

The ruse might have worked, hadn't the Sprite's clothes glowed intensely in the dark. Regaining what was left of his cunning, Montparnasse quickly pulled them against him, pinning them on the spot he had been occupying just a second ago, cloaking them under black clothes. The cops ran past them, rushing through the exit door without noticing their invisible presence. Montparnasse could feel a laboured breath blowing on his neck. He held tighter. It's okay. They were okay, his touch said, though his lips remained sealed.

Montparnasse waited until the last cop had trickled out the door to let go. He took a jerky step backwards, realising that he had probably indentend Golden Sprite in the wall by now. Somewhat ruffled from the pressure, his acolyte gave him a grateful look before resuming their escape. Montparnasse followed them up several flights of stairs, cursing his smoking and eating habits for his bad shape.

After an excrutiating climb, Golden Sprite pushed open a door. Fresh air flew into Montparnasse's lungs and a tired chuckle exalted back out. He tried to stop it, but the frenzy was so potent it hurt his ribs. By his side, his saviour followed suit, exulting the stress away. Montparnasse sat down, his legs threatening to give for good this time, and leant back against the casing of an air vent. He was safe. He had made it out.

Golden Sprite sat at a respectable distance from him, bringing their knees against their chest. Their hilarity had worn off.

"Sorry if I―"

They made a vague gesture with their hand, looking at Montparnasse's shoulder rather than his eyes. Their voice was less high pitched than he had expected.

"Overstepped," they finished, pressing their lips together in embarrassement.

Montparnasse raised an eyebrow. They had just saved his ass and they talked of overstepping?

"Considering you just save me a trip to the nick, I can hardly be picky about your methods."

He patted his pockets to find his pack of cigarettes, but his fingers met nothing more than leather and fabric. He cast a glance at Golden Sprite. They looked perfectly human under the moonlight. The mystical glow of the club had glided off their face, switching to a strong blush. Both sights were lovely ones, as far as Montparnasse was concerned.

"Do you do that often? Kissing strangers to confuse little piggies on the lookout?"

A small chuckle escaped their mouth and they held their knees tighter.

"Can't say that I do, no."

"How did you know I was running from the fuzz?"

They fiddled with their braid, their thumb brushing the golden thread winding along it.

"I―Let's just say I have experience with that kind of running."

Montparnasse stared in disbelief. They had to be joking. They probably weighed 120 pounds soaking wet and looked like an elf straight out of a fantasy novel!

"For real?"

They nodded, risking a glance and a soft smile. As badly as he wanted to shift closer, Montparnasse stayed put. It was as though he would scare them away if he attempted the slightest unexpected move. To think they had been lost in each other a minute ago...

"I'm told defacing public buildings with spray paint is considered illegal," they quipped, visibly proud of themself. "You?"

"Breaking and entering."

The fellow criminal gave him a wry look, obviously unconvinced.

"With the firm intention of stealing," Montparnasse concluded at last.

The confession brought the vandal closer to the burglar, shuffling against the air vent so that their shoulders brushed. Names, Montparnasse remembered.

"Montparnasse," he introduced himself, holding out his hand.

"Jean Prouvaire," the other replied, gently shaking the offered hand. "Or Jehan."

"Jean Prouvaire," Montparnasse whispered, fond of the way it rolled on his tongue. They hold each other's gaze for a moment, before Jean lowered theirs with a smile. "Which one do you prefer?"

"Either."

A gust of wind made Jean―Jehan? Jehan.―shiver, their hands rubbing their arms for warmth. Oh, shit, sure! Montparnasse―having the luxury of wearing a jacket―had not felt the coolness of the night on his skin. He doubted a loose tanktop and leggings had the same effect.

"Here, take it."

He took off his leather jacket and handed it to a shivering Jehan. Seeing their hesitation, Montparnasse added :

"It's the least I can do."

Seemingly convinced, Jehan put it on. It was too big for them, but at least they could fill the surplus with warmth.

"Thank you," they whispered.

"No, thank _you_ ," Montparnasse insisted. "The thing that you did, it was―" He tried to find an alternative to the word he really had in mind. "It was cool of you."

Of all the plans he had had for the evening, sitting on a rooftop with a cute vandal wrapped in his jacket surely had not been one of them. But things rarely go according to plan, do they? That outcome was better that what he had had in mind, anyway. He looked at the glitter shining at the corner of Jehan's eyes. It flickered with their breathing, casting a silver glow rather than a golden one this time. Damn, they really were something else, weren't they?

His stomach decided to call his attention back to its needs, blasting an abominable growl of discontent. He couldn't stay here. The cops were probably far away by now. If he managed his escape well, he could always stop in a kebab shop for some quick and greasy fries. The thought made him even hungrier. He'd kill for some potato-y goodness.

"I―er―You up for a kebab or something? I sort of have to run before the cops realise I'm still here."

Jehan diverted their gaze, flustered.

"Actually, my friends must be wondering where I am. Or why I kissed a perfect stranger."―Montparnasse tried not to smile at the choice of words; and failed―"Or why the cops were after me by proxy. Actually they're probably pretty damn confused.

Montparnasse nodded and got up, closely followed by Jehan.

"It's okay. More fries for me then."

He heard them giggle as he searched the pockets of the jacket for his keys.

"Your jacket―"

"Keep it. It's a cold night."

And also an excellent reason to meet again.

"Isn't it―like―evidence?" Jehan furrowed, slipping an amused look in his direction.

"Only if I get caught," Montparnasse winked, a sly smile on his lips.

"Better run then."

"I guess I should."

Yet, he didn't. They stayed there, looking at each other, waiting for the other to go first. Except neither of they seemed to be willing to budge. Montparnasse wondered if he should kiss them goodbye. They were past that, after all, no? He cast a fleeting glance at Jehan's lips, but decided otherwise. No. Not until he was absolutely sure Jehan wanted him to. He didn't want to be that guy. Montparnasse took Jehan's hand instead, lifting it up to his lips.

"See you around, Jean Prouvaire," he purred, laying a kiss on their knuckles.

He felt a squeeze before he let go. Later, as he was wandering in the streets, he hugged himself against the cold. It didn't matter. He was warm inside.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!  
> Never ever hesitate to comment and/or leave a kudo! It's kind of a big deal for us writers, and it always warms us to our core! Plus Jehanparnasse isn't the most widespread pairing, so supporting content about that ship really does help! 
> 
> For more Jehanparnasse goodness or just, you know, LES MIS in general, you can always say hello at [just-french-me-up](http://just-french-me-up.tumblr.com/)! I'll send you on your merry way now! Have a wonderful day!


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